Balance
by ShannonSto
Summary: Grissom and Sara are forced to spend one night a week together-bowling. GS, of course. Complete.
1. Default Chapter

**Spoilers:** Nothing overt.

**Disclaimer: **I still own nothing. After Charley and Frances, I'm lucky I still have a computer. So don't sue me. Please.

**A/N:** This is the first part of a WIP, becoming fluffier toward the end. I'm planning to post chapters on Tuesdays. Hopefully (fingers crossed) I can keep up with that schedule. Special thanks to Psyched and Maddy for advice, assistance and support. What would I do without you?

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The coffee cup clattered to the floor before Gil Grissom could catch it, but luck must have been on his side. The new no-spill lid had functioned as advertised, preventing a disaster. He picked it up, replaced it on the desk and finished with his evening ritual. First order of business when he arrived at the building had been to pray that his parking spot wasn't occupied, next, check with the receptionist for messages. Then he picked up the night's assignment slips and read over them. Those tasks completed, he logged onto the lab's intranet to check his e-mail.

He found the standard messages and deleted them; he wasn't really concerned about the upcoming PD carwash, nor the newly revamped family insurance coverage from human resources. There was only one that Grissom felt the need to actually read, and it was the one from Director Cavallo. It was a reminder about the interdepartmental bowling league, to which Grissom had apparently been assigned. Reminder? He searched his memory and couldn't recall hearing of it before then. According to the e-mail, he had agreed to form a two person team. Damn, he wished he could remember doing that. He must have been out of his mind. Oh well, he supposed he would just assign two of his CSIs and be done with it.

"You get my e-mail?" Cavallo asked from the door.

"Uh, yes. Why are you here at this hour?"

"I forgot some papers I needed. Who's going to bowl?"

"I'll check with my team. I'm sure it won't be a problem...probably Stokes and Brown." Grissom logged off the computer.

"No, no, it's you and someone else."

"I don't bowl."

"It has to be you," Cavallo asserted. "The Sheriff's really gung-ho about this. You're the leader. You need to step up and put yourself out in public. Let me know in the morning who's going to be with you so I can have the shirts made."

Before Grissom could respond, the director was gone. Grissom chuckled in spite of his irritation; he couldn't help but wonder if Cavallo had learned that maneuver from Sara. He gathered the assignment slips and made his way to the break room, where he knew his team would be waiting.

He found all of them but Sara staring at the television. She was making a new pot of coffee. To get their attention, he switched off the set.

"Hey!" Nick protested. "James Woods was all in!"

"It's a rerun, Nick," Grissom replied. "Dule Hill wins."

The other four CSIs exchanged curious glances--did Grissom really watch Celebrity Poker, or was he bluffing?

"Really?" Catherine asked.

"Woods is on his way to join Mo Gaffney in the Loser's Lounge," Grissom answered matter-of-factly. "Back to business, who likes to bowl?"

"Bowl?" Sara looked confused. "As in, rolling the ball down the lane and trying to knock down pins?"

"Yes. And now that we know what it is, who's in?"

"Why?"

"The lab is joining the department league. I'm obligated to send two bowlers, including myself," he explained.

"Pass," Catherine said. "I don't have time."

"Yeah, me too," Warrick chimed in.

"I'm a lousy bowler," Nick said quickly.

All eyes turned to Sara. "The same reason as the others," she declined. "I don't want to."

"That's the team spirit," Grissom said dryly. "Fine. I'll pick a name randomly." He suddenly wished he had enough decomps for all of them. "Warrick, Catherine, you already have your case. Nick, you get a B and E in Summerlin. Sara, we have 200 grand in jewelry stolen from a room at Mandalay Bay."

"200 grand left in the room?" Catherine wondered. "Haven't these people ever heard that hotels have safes?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

By assigning Sara to work with him, Grissom hoped to begin repairing their badly damaged friendship. Badly damaged? He knew it was on life support. He had been unhappy for a long time. Since he had his surgery, he had made efforts to reach out to others, and he met with some success. But it still felt empty. It had taken him a far too long to figure out what it was that was missing. He had been alone his entire adult life, and he thought that it was enough for him, but now he knew that it wasn't. That deep yearning in his body and soul every time she was near was there for a good reason, he realized. He needed her. It was as simple as that. He needed her.

But was he too late? Recent events had shown him just how unhappy she really was, and he knew that he had played a role in that sadness. Sara was a strong person; she would do whatever she needed to do to pull herself together again. What if she decided leaving him was what she needed to do? After all, he'd given her no reason to stay. He'd made it clear that the relationship wasn't going to advance personally, and the promotion fiasco had been enough to demonstrate to her that she wouldn't be advancing professionally either. And clearly , the status quo wasn't enough for her. Being honest with himself, he knew it wasn't enough for him.

He hoped working with her more often would give them time to get their rapport back, but it didn't seem to be working out. She didn't respond at all to his attempts at flirtation. His overtures were met with polite professional detachment. He needed a way to spend time with her away from the lab, where they couldn't hide behind their professional roles.

Hours later, he left Sara in the DNA lab and returned to office. Four small squares of paper, each with a different name scribbled on it, went into a cup. Grissom closed his eyes and fished his hand in, removing one scrap of paper. Sara. Immediately, a sudden urge to discard Sara's name and draw another passed over him. Surely she wouldn't appreciate having to spend so much time with him, and he would be uneasy as well. However, he reasoned, this may be a blessing in disguise; if they spent a couple of hours together every Tuesday night, they may be able to become friends again. He worked the rest of the shift in peace, having made his decision.

He found her in the locker room as he was leaving. "You going home?"

"Yeah."

He bit the bullet. "I hate to tell you, your number came up. You've been officially elected to the bowling team." He braced himself for the feared reaction.

"Damn! I have the worst luck! Randomly?" She slammed the locker door shut.

He felt a stab of pain. Was the idea of spending time with him really so distasteful to her? "Yes."

Sara sighed heavily. "When and where?"

"Tuesday at eight o' clock. Sunset Bowl."

"Eight o' clock?" Sara groused. "How are we supposed to get to work on time?"

Grissom fought through his hurt feelings. He knew he really couldn't blame her for not wanting to be near him. "I'll rearrange the schedule so we have Tuesdays off. You'll be there?"

"Yes."

"There's good news. It seems we get shirts."

"Bowling shirts? Oh this just keeps getting better."

TBC


	2. 2

Grissom arrived at Sunset Bowl at 7:30, still not fully rested after a long shift the previous night. He scanned the handbills on the wall to determine which lane he and Sara would be using. Who knew there were so many participants? With a sigh of relief, he spotted Sara in lane three. He grabbed a pair of brown and orange striped shoes and headed to the third lane from the wall.

"Hey," he greeted as he neared her. "You're early."

"Hey." She seemed a little startled to see him, as if she'd been lost in thought. "I figured they'd be going over the league rules and all that."

Grissom's eyes moved to the bag on the floor in front of her. "You bought your own shoes?"

"I'm uh, I'm not wearing rentals." She shook her head and untied her sneakers. "You know how many feet have been in those things?" Her brow wrinkled in disgust as she pointed out his rented shoes.

"It's not like you're barefoot, Sara. You're wearing socks."

"Still...fungi, bacteria...they spray them with protectant but I don't trust it."

Something was bothering Grissom about Sara's shoes, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. He changed into his rentals and set off to locate an appropriate ball. Sara perused the rack alongside him, studiously inspecting the weight and fit of each ball. Remembering his goal of reconnecting with her, he took the opportunity to tease her.

"Aren't you worried about who else's fingers have been in those holes?"

"I don't have a ball, so I don't have a choice," she explained. "I'll be getting one before next week."

Once the balls were chosen, Sara headed for the snack bar and returned with French fries and a soda. He studied her carefully, making a mental note of her preferences.

The obligatory meeting with the rest of the league was next, establishing the rules and registering the teams. When their turn came, Grissom moved to the front of the crowd and checked off their names on the list. He scrawled the team's name in the space provided.

Their opponents were waiting for them when they returned to lane three. Two middle aged women in matching orange shirts greeted them. "Hi! I'm Mary, this is Tammy. We're from IA."

Grissom and Sara dutifully reached out to shake the women's hands. "We're crime lab. I'm Gil Grissom. My teammate is Sara Sidle."

The teams continued their preparation for the first game. Grissom picked up the paper sack he'd brought with him.

"Oh, Sara, here's your shirt," he mumbled apologetically. "Cavallo had them printed for us."

Sara reached into the bag and removed the most gaudy garment she'd ever seen. The front and back were a glaring chartreuse, with black sleeves and a purple stripe running down each side. On the back, the team name was emblazoned in purple.

"Lovely," she deadpanned. "Whose idea was Dermestidae Masculatus?"

"It's a name nobody else is going to have," Grissom offered, employing his best head tilt.

She was determined to keep things on a professional level, but she just couldn't squelch the grin that snuck over her face. He was simply adorable when he did that. "So where's _your_ shirt?"

Grissom didn't take his eyes off of her as he slowly removed his jacket and revealed his own green and purple shirt. "You can wear yours next week."

"Oh, no, no." Sara shook her head in acceptance of the challenge. She slung the offending article of clothing over her shoulder. "I'm all about the team." With a slight smirk, she began to walk away from him. "I'm going to the ladies' room to change. Be right back."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Nice job picking up that spare, Sara." Grissom watched as she took her seat.

"Surprised?"

Unable to decipher her expression, he took a moment to formulate a response. Did she want him to be surprised? Or did it bother her? He decided the safest route would be the most neutral. "You were hesitant about bowling."

"I said I didn't want to bowl. I didn't say I couldn't." Her light tone reassured him that her good humor was intact.

He took his turn, easily making his own spare. "You're not a bad bowler yourself," Sara complimented as she moved to retrieve her ball. As Sara quickly rolled a strike, it finally occurred to Grissom what it was about her shoes that interested him: they weren't new. She had clearly bowled many times before. Had she bowled with a date? A boyfriend? He pushed the image out of his head. Her past paramours weren't his business. Since he had declined to advance their relationship, he knew that any current paramour wouldn't be his business, either.

"Where did you learn to bowl like that?"

"Where did you?" She volleyed back to him.

"My Uncle Joe managed a bowling alley," he confessed without hesitation. "My mom had me work there in the summers. I guess she got tired of the animal autopsies in the back yard." He stepped up to take his turn, not waiting for her reaction.

Tammy sat next to Sara. "You guys are pretty good."

"Thanks. You're pretty good, too."

"We've been bowling together for years. Mind if I ask a question? What _is_ that name?"

"It's Latin for 'you're hiding a dead body'." Sara felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

"Oh," Tammy sputtered diplomatically, "that's...interesting."

Sara shrugged. "We're criminalists."

"Ooh, I'm up next." Tammy dismissed herself at Grissom's approach.

"I don't think Tammy appreciates your choice of team names," Sara grinned

"She doesn't get it."

"In college."

He was set off-balance by the abrupt change of subject. "Excuse me?"

"Where I learned to bowl," she explained. "In college. I needed PE credit, and there was no way I was going to be a cheerleader."

"There were other choices."

"Bowling worked."

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Walking back to his car, side by side with Sara, Grissom assessed the evening and determined it had gone as well as could be expected. She had been cautious, but he'd succeeded in eliciting a few smiles. Next week would hopefully prove even better.

"We did well tonight," he offered, unsure if he was referring only to the game.

"Yeah, but we could do better." Grissom did a double-take; was she also speaking of more than bowling? Sara answered his silent question with her next statement. "I'm gonna do some calculations. There's a lot of physics involved."

"Thank you for doing this, Sara," he said softly. He felt the urge to take her hand, but thought better of it and resisted. "I'll see you at the lab tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." For a split second, their eyes met, but Sara quickly broke the visual contact. "Good night."

TBC


	3. 3

A/N: I'm mathematically challenged, so goodness knows I couldn't have written this chapter without help. I'll list the sources in a review so that they won't get deleted. I'd like to thank everyone who's reading and reviewing—it means a lot to me. And once again, a big thank you to Psyched for her invaluable assistance and advice.

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"Good, you're here," Sara said as she looked up from her notepad.

Grissom sat across from her on the bench. "Why am I here an hour early?"

"We need to practice." Her eyes caught the gray bag at his feet. "And you got a ball. How heavy?"

"14 pounds."

"14 pounds. That's...6.36 kilos..." Grissom could almost see her mind work as she performed the quick mental calculations.

"Do you have an experiment in mind?"

"It's a very scientific game. Let's take a scientific approach to it," she responded, brow furrowed in concentration. "If you center a hit on the headpin, you get a split. Therefore, correct entry angle to the pins is critical. Right-handed people like you and I have the best outcomes hitting the 1-3 pocket." She pointed to her notepad. "Entry angle in the 4-6 degree range is the goal."

"That's not easy to do."

"No. It can't be done without the right hook on the ball," she concurred.

Grissom suppressed his grin, choosing to display a mask of mock-seriousness. He always enjoyed watching her razor-sharp analyses. "That seems like a difficult thing to manufacture."

She flipped to the next page of her legal pad. "The components are friction and the rotational kinematics of the ball."

"But the lanes are coated with oil to reduce friction," he supplied.

"Yes, but they can't make it zero." She reached into her bowling bag and retrieved a roll of thin tape, tearing off a small piece. "Where's your ball?"

Grissom placed it on the ball return. He looked at Sara expectantly as she stuck the tiny bit of tape on it. "To check your rotation," she explained. "We count the number of times the tape goes around as the ball rolls down the lane."

"Won't that create more friction? And alter the trajectory?"

"Some. But right now we're looking at rotation," she grinned. "Bowl."

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By seven-thirty, Sara had the information she needed. "The friction is pretty low in this alley."

"Should we sample the oil they're using and send it to Hodges?" Grissom teased.

"Maximum ball speed is at the point of release," she continued as though she hadn't heard him. "It typically loses three to three and a half miles per hour as it travels the 18.3 meters from the foul line to the pins."

"Our friend friction again."

Sara nodded. "It's really hard to calculate because it varies depending on the type of oil the alley uses and the mass of the ball. And balls made after 1991 don't work with linear models anyway. They're reactive resin, thermoset elastomers with liquid polymers that soak up oil."

"So friction remains the unknown variable in our equation."

"Two unknowns, actually. The other is balance."

"Which means?" He tilted his head slightly.

"Bowling balls vary in their weight distribution. If it has a negative balance, it has a tendency to move away from the pins."

"And a positive balance turns toward the pins," Grissom finished.

"Yes."

"So what have we learned from all of this?"

Sara looked over her notes a final time. "That based on your ball mass, ball speed, rotation and the height of release, you should aim for the second arrow from the right, and hold your wrist like this." She grasped his wrist lightly to demonstrate the desired angle. The contact caused an air of awkwardness to settle over them, and she quickly withdrew.

Grissom glanced at the arrow and back at Sara, trying to ignore the pleasant tingle in his arm in the wake of her touch. "What about you?"

"I should aim for the third." She took a deep breath in an effort to free herself from the flustered feeling. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna go to the snack bar. You want anything?"

"No...thank you."

He focused on the bulletin board as he crossed the room. The figure scanning the league assignments appeared eerily familiar from behind.

"Oh, Gil and Sara, isn't that cute?" Hodges muttered acidly to the young man standing beside him. "The Gruesome Twosome."

"Lane eight, Hodges," Grissom said evenly.

The lab technician spun around with a start. "Oh, Grissom, hi. I didn't know you were here already." A forced smile was plastered on his face.

"Obviously."

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"We're doing better than last week," Grissom noted as he dropped onto the bench next to Sara. "We make a good team." He fixed an appreciative gaze upon her.

Confusion and suspicion clouded over her eyes. She quickly averted them, choosing to bring the focus back to the game. "We're up by 22 pins."

Grissom scrutinized the scoring, but continued to surreptitiously observe her as she sipped her soda and sampled her french fries. It was same fare she'd chosen the previous week, and he was certain to make a mental note. When her turn came around, she positioned herself at the lane and began her approach. He couldn't help but appreciate her form as she released the ball. How did she manage to make that gaudy blouse look so...good? And she wasn't just beautiful—she had a brilliant, inquisitive mind that captivated him. He'd thoroughly enjoyed listening to her earlier analysis. He cursed himself again for taking so long to work up the courage to pursue the attraction; many injuries had been inflicted upon them both by the far-reaching effects of denial. Those wounds would need time and patience to heal. Sara's reactions showed him that she had constructed a protective wall of her own, and getting through it was not going to be easy.

The CSIs walked side by side to their cars. They won all three games handily, leaving Grissom to wonder if perhaps Hodges and his teammate were sandbagging. If that man was brown-nosing again...he gave himself a mental kick. Why waste energy thinking about Hodges when Sara was walking with him? She deserved every bit of his attention, and he was going to give it to her. From now on, he would devote himself to making up for the mistakes of the past and building a future. With her.

"Grissom?" On the third call, her voice got through.

"Hmm? Sorry, I was distracted."

"Where were you?" She asked softly. "Sorry—not my business. Anyway, um, I'll see you tomorrow."

The embarrassed, pained expression on her face recalled a prior aborted conversation they'd had. _"I'm always over-talking around you." _He wasn't sure he knew what she'd meant then, but now he thought maybe he did. It stabbed at his heart to realize how gunshy was around him. Had he really been that distant, that dismissive? If only she knew that this time, he'd been about to answer her question.

"Good night, Sara," he answered quietly. Next week, he supposed, he would have to step up his efforts to make amends.

TBC


	4. 4

As Grissom tied his shoelaces, his concern grew. He glanced at his watch: 7:50 pm. Although she was not yet officially late, Sara's usual arrival time had come and gone. Two thirty-something, athletic young men approached him.

"Hey," the taller man spoke. "You must be our competition tonight."

"I must."

"I'm guessing from the team name that you're crime lab or morgue."

"Speak Latin, do you?"

The man grinned amiably. "Marty Ackers." He offered his hand for Grissom to shake. "This is my partner Glenn Zelinsky. We're in the legal department."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Gil Grissom."

"Where's your other half?" Glenn shook the entomologist's hand right as a shrill beep sounded. All three men instinctively reached for their phones.

"It's me," Grissom informed them. "It's, uh...my other half." Why did that sound so odd to his ears? "Hello?"

"Grissom, hey, I'm so sorry I'm late," Sara began. "I overslept a little, and then there's an accident on Gibson..."

"Sara, it's okay. I'll see you when you get here," he reassured her.

"I should be there in a few minutes."

Grissom turned back to Marty and Glenn. "She'll be here soon."

The attorneys began changing their shoes and preparing for the game. Being late would be unnerving for always-in-control Sara, Gil knew. Did oversleeping mean that she was sleeping better? Or did it mean she was unable to fall asleep until very late, hence sleeping through the alarm?

"You ready?" Marty asked. "I'll go first."

Grissom nodded, preoccupied with his thoughts.

"A strike!" Glenn pumped his fist in the air after Marty successfully bowled. "The first of many."

Marty wore an air of smugness as he returned. "Go for it, Gil."

"Hey, Marty, check that out," Glenn directed his friend's attention to the tall brunette walking toward them. "Times like this I wish I was single like you."

Marty grinned. "Is she coming here?"

Grissom struggled to hide his growing jealousy as he quickly moved between Sara and the gentleman, catching up to her just as she came within earshot. "Hey, you made it." He smiled warmly at her in the hope that Marty and Glenn would get the picture.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I really hate being late." She shook her head sheepishly, and sat down to get ready to bowl.

"Hi, I'm Marty."

"I'm Glenn."

"Sara," she responded politely.

"And we've already established that I'm Gil," Grissom piped up, his voice dripping in irritation. "Can we get on with this?"

"Still your turn," Marty retorted.

Sara noticed the items on the table. "Hey, you got fries."

"They're for you," Grissom said flatly. "And your soda."

She rewarded him with one of her brightest smiles. "Thank you. That's very nice."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Midway through the second game, Grissom sat lost in thought while Sara bowled. He mulled over Hodges words from the week before. _Gil and Sara. The Gruesome Twosome_. He tried to put his finger why they sounded so pleasant to his ears. He'd spent his life being Gruesome Grissom, the eccentric loner. 'Gil and Sara' had a very nice ring to it. And if he was Gruesome Grissom, then as a couple they would be the Gruesome Twosome. Yes, the words sounded like music. It made him feel as if he were part of a couple, rather than alone. Part of him wanted to stop this line of thought immediately; a larger part surprised him by enjoying the feeling of couplehood. But they weren't a couple, he had to remind himself. Not yet, anyway. He still had a great deal of work to do before realizing _that_ goal.

In the meantime, there were other challenges to be faced. Marty had stepped up his flirting to a level that could only be described as shameless. Couldn't that idiot see that she was only being polite? She was only being polite, right? It didn't help matters that the guy appeared to have stepped right off the cover of a magazine. Was Sara interested in that sort of thing? If that good-for-nothing medic had been any indication, she was. Ugh, he hated what his insecurity did to him. Why couldn't life always be about science, an arena in which he felt confident in his abilities?

"What time did you end up getting out this morning?" Sara appeared next to him on the bench. "That double looked like it was going to take a while."

"I left not too long after you did." He avoided making eye contact with her.

"Hey, Sara!" Marty's voice rang out as he stepped back into the seating area after his turn. Sara pretended not to have heard him. Mercifully, Glenn intercepted his approach to speak him.

"I think Marty's trying to get your attention," Grissom said, hoping he didn't sound as angry as he felt.

"Marty's a leech," she confided in disgust. "He's driving me crazy. What makes him think dropping hints about his annual salary or his fancy car would make me swoon into his arms? Do I seem like that kind of person?"

"No," Grissom's reply was short and sincere.

"Thanks. Oh, I think they're waiting for you." She pointed to the flashing arrow beside his name on the electronic scorer.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Looks like we don't get to play each other again," Marty told Grissom after he'd perused the league schedule. They'd bowled their final frame of the night.

Grissom didn't even attempt to disguise his disdain for the man. "That's too bad."

"Do you have a problem with me?" Marty asked. "What? Is it her? She's not with you, is she?"

"Why would you assume that she isn't?"

"Am I wrong? Is she with you?" When Grissom responded only with an icy stare, Marty knew he'd hit pay dirt. "She isn't. But you want her to be. Good luck," he offered and gave Grissom a patronizing pat on the back. "You'll need it."

Sara arrived and sat beside her supervisor again, getting ready to head home for the evening.

"Hey," Marty pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to Sara. "I know you said you're working tomorrow, but give me a call someday when you're free."

Grissom seethed silently until Glenn and Marty had left the bowling alley. "I thought he wasn't your type," he said at last.

His accusatory manner served to incense Sara. "I told you I'm not interested in him, and I'm not."

"Then you're leading him on."

"'Cause you should know what _that_ looks like," she shot back, instantly regretting it. "I was just being nice to him, Grissom. And what's it to you, anyway? Why should it matter?"

The insinuation knocked the wind out of him. "I've never intentionally misled anyone."

"I shouldn't have said that. This is a conversation we should have had a long time ago, but we didn't, and now it's history. I'm not sure I really want to revisit it." She kept her tone gentle, but the air felt thick and heavy with emotion.

"You're right, we should have. It's something I think I'll regret for a very long time."

Sara shook her head sadly. "Don't do this to me. Please, just...don't." She grabbed her bag and, once again, she was gone before he was able to process her words and formulate an appropriate response.

TBC


	5. 5

**A/N**: I really appreciate all of the feedback. I'm so, so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. looks around futilely for someone to blame. The next one will be on time.

**Spoilers**: Revenge is Best Served Cold

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own a thing.

Under the guise of choosing his snack, Grissom studied Sara as she performed her weekly pre-game ritual. Once she had her fries and soda in hand, she would return to the seating area, and he would dutifully purchase his nachos and follow her.

They worked well together over the preceding week, as always a professional and efficient team, but a distinctly awkward tension hung in the air between them. Although neither spoke of it, each was well aware that there were issues that couldn't be ignored much longer.

In Grissom's mind, the events of previous Tuesday constituted a setback. He longed for the opportunity to explain himself, but when the time came, would she be willing to hear him? Her reaction to his jealousy had been disconcerting at best. Was he really too late already?

He knew that confrontation was an inevitable and necessary step in the relationship, but he had hoped it wouldn't happen until they had grown a bit closer. Then, they could have approached the long-restrained emotions in a more controlled setting. But what had happened had happened, and there was no turning back now. His time line had been moved forward dramatically.

"Is that all you eat on bowling night?" He tried to sound casual as he placed his ball on the ball return.

"I eat," she replied with a tone that left Grissom unsure whether to describe it as playful or defensive.

Gil drew in a deep breath and steadied himself. "I was thinking we should get dinner after the game tonight."

Sara froze. "Grissom…I don't…"

"It's not a date, Sara. At least it doesn't have to be," he told her earnestly. "It's just two friends catching up over a meal. I've missed you…as a friend."

She continued to struggle with her thoughts and feelings, forcing out in a whisper "I miss you, too. It's just, I don't know."

"Think about it, okay?"

"Who are we bowling against tonight?" _That was a pretty abrupt change of subject,_ Gil noted. _I may have pushed too hard, made her feel backed into a corner._

"The Homicide Hooligans. Detectives, maybe?"

"Yeah," Sara supplied. "That's Brass and Vega. They're in third place. I didn't know we were facing them tonight."

"You rang?" Jim Brass dropped his bag to the floor and gave them his wry grin. "We're third, you're second. There are some bragging rights at stake here."

The match proceeded, with Sara watching the score, Grissom pretending that he wasn't watching Sara but fooling no one, Brass watching Grissom _and_ Sara and Vega wishing he were home watching _NCIS_. By the end of the first game, it was clear that any discord existing between the CSIs was not going to hinder their performance as a team.

Jim Brass shook his head in amusement as he checked the score. It amazed him that two people as intelligent as Gil and Sara could sometimes be so obtuse. No matter what was happening between them, they were nearly always able to put it aside and work together when the situation required cohesion.

"We're down by 14 pins," Vega observed as the tenth frame of the final game approached. "You're up, Grissom."

Grissom took his place and rolled his ball perfectly, knocking down all ten pins.

"That's a turkey," Sara grinned, pointing at the bird on the electronic scoreboard. It flashed brightly to celebrate Grissom's third consecutive strike. "That should do it."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Licking his lips anxiously, Gil approached her as she placed her ball in her bag. "Have you thought about dinner?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Sunset Station's just up the street. Their café isn't bad."

"I've eaten there," she replied.

He hoped he didn't appear half as nervous as he felt. "And?"

"As friends?"

"If that's all we're ready for."

With a gentle tone and a slight tilt of her head, she acquiesced. "Let's go."

She opted to follow him in her own car, and they parked near the side door leading to the café. They were pleased to discover that the eatery was nearly empty; privacy would be a near certainty. The clanging and ringing of slot machines was distant, and the high walls around the dining area ensured that the keno boards provided the only evidence that they were indeed in a casino.

Dinner was pleasant, the tension between them slowly melting away until it was barely detectable. They kept the conversation light and mundane, steering away from the more emotionally-charged subject matter.

"I was thinking of attending that osteology conference in January," Sara enthused. "Have you been to that one?"

Grissom nodded as he swallowed his bite of potato. "I was one of the moderators two years ago. It's a very good conference. And Dr. Michaels is a friend of mine. I'm sure he'd be happy to give you a tour of the lab there."

Terror immediately washed over him. What was he thinking with that suggestion? What if she liked that lab—too much? And what if she liked Jefferson Michaels? _Stop it, Gil,_ he chided himself. His insecurity has only caused trouble in the past. He knew he had to get over it. She was there with him. Smiling at him.

When the check came, Sara began leafing through her wallet.

"I've got it, Sara."

"I'll pay for half," she insisted. "You shouldn't have to pay for everything."

"So let's compromise and let Station Casinos pay. I'll use a comp."

Sara stilled her hand and looked up at him. "You have comps?"

Grissom shrugged. "I have comps all over town."

"What do you play?"

"Not much of anything any more. I used to play a lot of poker."

Sara eyed him curiously. "I thought poker rooms didn't comp players."

"They don't usually use the card system, but comps are occasionally given at the discretion of the host."

"I'll be you're a force to reckoned with at the table. You don't give away a thing," she smiled. What do you play? Hold 'em, stud or Omaha?"

Grissom found himself struck by his last conversation on the topic…

_"Wow, I'm impressed," Warrick said. "I mean, the fact that you sat at a table with actual living beings."_

_"Well," Grissom hedged, "poker's not a game of interaction. It's a game of observation. I used to study people. And then I guess I, uh, got bored. Now I study evidence."_

_"What I don't get is why we've never talked about gambling before. How come you never mention it?"_

_"Same reason a good player hides his 'tells'."_

_Warrick nodded. "He doesn't want to be exposed."_

Exposure. That was a big fear for him, he knew. But entering into a relationship with Sara meant exposing parts of himself he'd kept hidden for many, many years. If he was going to do that, it was best to start now.

"Earth to Grissom," Sara's voice cut through his reverie.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave you hanging. Hold 'em, but I don't play anything any more. I got bored with it." As the waitress disappeared with the complimentary ticket, Grissom deposited the tip on the table and took Sara's hand lightly in his. "Ready?"

They stopped at their respective vehicles. "Thank you for dinner," Sara said sheepishly. "It was…nice."

"It was nice," he nodded. "We should, uh, we should do it again sometime."

She pulled away slowly and shyly. "I'll see you at work tomorrow."

Grissom was warmed by her grin as they parted. The evening had gone well—much better than he expected. Perhaps this could work after all.

TBC


	6. 6

"Did you get any sleep?" Sara asked her partner as they readied themselves for the game. He'd clearly failed to disguise the fatigue etched into his features.

"Some." His shoes now tied, he straightened his back stiffly. "We wrapped it up this afternoon."

"Your case made my armed robbery look easy. You don't have to do this, you know."

Grissom gave her a reassuring half-grin. "I'll get my second wind."

To Grissom's eyes, the two men who sat across from him and Sara were mismatched; one was about thirty, muscular and serious. The other wore his youthful exuberance and inexperience the way that a Boy Scout would wear a merit badge. Come to think of it, he probably wasn't much older than a Boy Scout, Grissom surmised.

"Hey," Sara greeted them, "I guess we're your competition tonight. I'm Sara, this is—"

"Dr. Gil Grissom, right?" Boy Scout practically assaulted the entomologist with his enthusiastic handshake. "Oh my God, I've been dying to meet you! I'm Rob Powers. I'm becoming a cop to get some police experience before I try to move into the crime lab."

"It's nice to meet you, Rob," Grissom responded politely.

"Robbie. My friends call me Robbie. Anyway, that's how Stokes did it, right? I heard he was a cop in Dallas for a while before he became a CSI."

"Jack Bohannon," the other man chimed in. "We're bowling for the academy, in case you haven't guessed."

Robbie continued his battering of Gil's sensibilities. "So what made you pick forensics? I mean, it's so cool, you know?"

Grissom's quick glance toward Sara delivered his message to her loudly and clearly: _Help me!_

"Hey, guys, let's get the ball rolling…no pun intended." She stepped between the men and smiled congenially.

"Who's first?" Robbie wondered aloud. "Should we flip for it?"

"You can go first," Sara offered.

As Robbie took his place on lane six, Jack leaned in and muttered to Gil and Sara "Eight years in the Marines…I always wanted to be a cop after I got out. How did I end up babysitting this guy?"

"Hang in there." Sara chuckled as she gave him a friendly pat on the arm.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

The CSIs bowled well, marking every frame in the first game. With every passing minute he spent with Sara, Grissom felt his exhaustion melt away. Just two frames into the second, disaster struck.

Sara began her approach, sliding to a stop at the foul line. Somehow, her feet got tangled with one another. She kept her balance, but cried out in pain. The ball rolled directly into the gutter.

Grissom rushed to her side as she sat down gingerly on the wood. "What's wrong?"

"I twisted my ankle," she grimaced. She rubbed the offending ankle with both hands.

"Let me see it," he prodded gently.

Sara looked around, her face flushing red, and began to struggle to her feet. "I'm gonna go sit on the benches."

Grissom briefly considered trying to convince her to stay off of the ankle, but he knew it was futile. Instead he put his arm around her and helped her hop to the seating area.

He kneeled on one knee before her, cautiously placing her foot on the other knee. "It doesn't hurt much now," she asserted. "I can finish the game."

"Sara, it's already swelling."

"Is she all right?" Robbie invaded their personal space.

"I'll be fine, thanks."

"Anything we can do?" Jack asked.

"No, thank you," Grissom said. "It's under control."

"I'm okay, really."

"I don't think it's fractured, but it needs to be wrapped," Grissom insisted.

"I'm not going to sit in the E.R."

"You don't have to," he soothed. "I have an ACE bandage in my first aid kit at home. You could use some ice, too."

"I'll get some from the snack bar," Robbie volunteered, and immediately went to perform his task.

Sara's blush grew. "This is so embarrassing. It's really not that big of a deal."

Robbie returned with a plastic bag filled with crushed ice. As Robbie reached for Sara's ankle, Grissom intercepted the bag.

"Thank you, Rob." Grissom applied the cold pack to the growing edema. "Ready to go, Sara?"

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Arms around one another's shoulders, Grissom and Sara made their way up the walkway to his townhouse.

"Grissom, I can walk," Sara protested.

"You should keep weight off your ankle."

Once inside, he helped her to the sofa and went to get his first aid kit. "Elevate that foot."

With a sigh of resignation, she peeled off her shoe and sock and leaned back against the arm of the sofa to rest her injured appendage on the cushion.

Grissom set the bandage on the coffee table and sat next to her on the sofa. He gently laid her foot in his lap. Removing the ice pack enabled him to study the swollen ankle carefully.

"You're being very sweet," she told him shyly.

"You deserve it." He massaged her foot and leg, pushing up her pant leg to run his hands lightly over the soft skin. Once the bandage was wrapped snugly around the injury, he maintained the tender contact and met her eyes with his own. God, her skin felt wonderful. His hands seemed to move on their own accord, wandering further and further up her long leg. And her foot rested dangerously close to…_easy Gil_, he warned himself. _Too much, too fast.__ You brought her here to fix her ankle._ Her eyes told him that the incredible connection between them hadn't diminished over time. She still cared. Was she moving closer, or was it his imagination? As if in answer to his unspoken question, her lips moved lightly across his.

They shared a second, longer kiss before pulling apart slightly. She put her head on his shoulder and he tightened the embrace. After a few moments of comfortably silent affection, Grissom spoke. "I'm going to make dinner."

Sara pulled back and stared at him with an amused grin. "You're cooking?"

He rose to his feet. "Of course." Reaching the kitchen, Gil flipped on the light switch.

"Can I help?"

"Only if you can help from the couch." He gestured toward her elevated foot.

Sara hobbled into the kitchen and sat on a bar stool.

"Hey," Grissom protested.

She cleared her throat and smiled triumphantly as she pointed to her foot, which rested on another stool.

A grin spread over his face. "You're incorrigible."

"That can be a good thing. Why should I sit in the living room alone when I can sit in here with you?"

Although he was unsure how to answer, his confidence soared as he turned back to preparing dinner.

At the end of the evening, after Gil helped Sara home, he couldn't help but feel hopeful. Things definitely seemed to be moving in the right direction.

TBC


	7. 7

**A/N:** I can't apologize enough for the extended delay. Many thanks to everyone still reading.

"Hey," Sara issued her standard greeting. Carefully placing her shoes under the bench, she looked up to face her teammate. "I thought for a minute there that you were standing me up," she teased.

"It's pouring. The traffic's backed up," came the simple reply.

Sara watched him as reached into his bag. "Take your time. We're playing the blind team tonight."

"Good."

"Is that a new ball?" She arched an eyebrow in a mix of curiosity and alarm.

Grissom was barely able to conceal his amusement at her reaction. "Yes, it is. But don't worry, the weight is the same."

"That doesn't mean the balance is!" Sara scolded. She was instantly betrayed by the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"The balance."

"Yes, the balance. It's important!"

"That has to do with the distribution of weight around the sphere, right?"

"Yes," Sara confirmed. "A ball with negative balance has a tendency to move away from the pins. A ball with positive balance moves toward them."

He cocked his head and fixed a serious gaze on her. "That could apply to a lot of things in life." Without waiting for her reaction, he turned back to his shoes. "Is recalculation in order?"

"I guess we'll find out fast," she sighed. "I'll start."

"How's your ankle?"

"It's fine. It only hurt for a couple of days."

"You were limping Saturday," he told her skeptically.

"It's fine," she repeated. "Really. Did I limp running that sample through the lab yesterday?"

"I wasn't watching."

"Uh huh." Sara grinned knowingly as she rolled her first ball.

Lost in his thoughts, he peered through her. They hadn't yet addressed the kiss at his townhouse; they'd seen each other only at work, and diligently kept the world separated. Yet it was never far from his mind. _She_ was never far from his mind. Had he crossed a line? He wanted to, but the internal battle flared again. Once the line was crossed, he knew they could never turn back. All he had to do was remind himself that he was better off with her than without her, and the answer was obvious. He forced the fears into submission.

"Grissom? Hey?" Sara waved a hand in front of his face. "You with me?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry."

The end of the evening drew near. Gil took a deep breath and sat down next to Sara on the bench. She was fidgeting with her shoelace, preoccupied with the night's games. As he removed his glasses and opened his mouth to tell her what was on his mind, she let out a mournful wail.

"I can't believe we lost to the blind team," she groaned. "I can't even blame your ball. I was just off tonight."

"We're still leading the league," he offered. In response to her good-natured smile, he continued. "Would you like to get some dinner?"

"Dinner?"

Grissom nodded subtly.

"To celebrate our defeat?"

"Why not?"

The windshield wipers beat feverishly back and forth, but the wet haze remained. Grissom double checked that they were indeed at their maximum speed. He always hated rainy nights. Not only would there be accidents all over town, but the downpours had a way with wreaking havoc on crime scenes. A glance in the rearview mirror at the driver of the vehicle following him brought a grin to his face; tonight he could enjoy Sara's company and not think about work.

Nervous small talk passed between them as they dined. It was clear that both were thinking of the previous week's encounter, unsure how it would affect their respective futures. Grissom at last decided to broach the subject. "Sara, I think we need to talk."

With her water glass near her lips, her hand froze in mid-air. "Oh God, it's never a good thing when a sentence starts like that." The glass plunked down onto the table.

"In this case, I hope it is."

"Okay," she sighed, her anxiety poorly masked. "Go ahead."

He reached over and tentatively placed his hand over hers. Why did this have to be so difficult for him? The diner was occupied by three other couples. All of them had managed to talk to one another. Why were he and Sara so different? His tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth and darted back in.

"If we're going to make this work, we have to work on our…"

"Communication?"

"Yes." After a lengthy awkward pause, he started again. "I'm sorry, this is uncharted territory for me. I'd like to keep seeing you outside of the lab, but I'm quite aware that a simple apology isn't going to make everything right."

"I'm to blame for this situation, too."

"We don't have to resolve everything tonight. There are a lot of things I'd like to tell you, but if I try to do it all at once, it's too overwhelming."

She covered his hand with her right one, sandwiching it. "We can take it slow."

"Good."

"What about work? People might get suspicious."

"Let's keep it to ourselves for now."

"Okay." She tried to appear nonchalant, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice.

"It's not that I want to keep us a secret, I just think we could do without any outside interference for the time being."

She flashed him the gap-toothed grin he adored. "You're right about that. So where do we start?"

"I have two tickets to Mamma Mia at Mandalay Friday if you're interested."

"Aren't you working Friday?"

"I'll cut a deal with Catherine. She'd gladly cover for me for a few hours on Friday to have Saturday off." He stared expectantly, maintaining eye contact.

"Color me there."

Upon exiting the diner, they discovered that rain had finally stopped. Gil watched her pull out of the parking lot and head for home, and for the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful about his romantic future. Friday night a new phase of his life would begin, and he couldn't wait to get started.

End


End file.
